


The Dual Deaths of Yondu Udonta

by jellybeanforest



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Emotional Constipation, Gen, GotG Kinkmeme Prompt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parent Yondu Udonta, Ravager Language, Reluctant Parent Kraglin, dadYondu, kragdu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:10:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: Yondu had died before, but the first time had not been so permanent.Prompt fill for LJ GotG Kinkmeme where Yondu fakes his death, a teenaged Peter explodes when a client insults the late Captain, and Kraglin and Peter have a very awkward heart-to-heart.





	The Dual Deaths of Yondu Udonta

“So, Lemme git this straight. Yer paying me 500,000 units to die,” Yondu asks, his glowing red arrow pointed at his newest client’s head.

“To fake your death,” the rat-like alien quickly clarifies before the arrow burrows a neatly-cauterized hole in the space between his four eyes. “The Crypt Keeper collects the bodies and weapons of only the greatest warriors for his mausoleum. We want you to fake your death, enter his vault, and steal the Scythe of Orlo. You’ll be compensated handsomely, of course.”

Yondu appears to mull it over, then makes his decision. “Okay, lemme jus’ comm my crew…”

“No! Everyone needs to think you’re dead. If you call them, he’ll know you’re not by their behavior.”

“500,000 units?” Yondu checks.

“500,000 units,” the rat confirms.

“Plus expenses?”

The rat can feel the arrow burning a hole of radiation in his skin. It’s Yondu’s greatest negotiation tactic.

“Yes, sure. Whatever you want,” he agrees.

“If this is some trick, like yer tryin’ to cash in on my bounty, jus’ know I ain’t goin’ ta make it quick…” Yondu leaves the implication open-ended, letting the other man fill in the blanks with his imagination.

“No tricks, Captain Udonta. We just want the scythe.” The rat is terrified. He’s not lying.

Yondu considers it. Nine days. In his absence, his first mate would take over. Kraglin would keep the Eclector together. He’s popular with the crew, and is nothing short of efficient, competent, and most importantly, completely loyal to Yondu. He won’t kick up much of a fuss when Yondu returns to his rightful place. So, really, what’s the worst that could happen?

“Okay then, where do we begin?”

 

* * *

 

“C’mon, Kraglin. I need this. I’m going crazy all cooped up in here,” Pete begs. It’s not really becoming of a Ravager.

“That’s Cap’n, now, Pete.” Kraglin responds automatically. The kid still isn’t used to the change in titles, not like Kraglin is either. It had been a shock to hear of Yondu’s sudden passing five days prior during a firefight with a rogue band of Akron. Kraglin barely had time to grieve before scrambling to keep the Eclector under his tight control. It had been a challenge at first, but he was first mate and had the blessing of many of Yondu’s supporters. As for Pete, he never called Yondu “Captain,” and he isn’t about to start with Kraglin. It was downright disrespectful, insubordinate even, but Kraglin suspects Pete’s learning curve is unusually broad. The kid was never that bright.

Kraglin considers him. At 14, Pete is tall and gawky with large hands too big for his body. He’ll be a big man when he fills out, but for now, he’s all sharp knees and elbows on a skinny frame. He’s still mostly grown by Kraglin’s reckoning. He supposes he can bring Pete along to take his mind off Yondu. Besides, the boy should start earning his keep, if only to divert the mumblings of some of the crew who might take advantage of the situation now that the freeloading Captain’s Pet is unprotected.

Besides, it’s a simple negotiation. What could go wrong?

 

* * *

 

“Captain Udonta won’t be joining us?” Their client, a yellow man named Caal, asks, shifting to look behind Kraglin to survey the crew he has brought with him. Caal likes Kraglin. The Eclector’s first mate is largely quiet and unassuming, unlike his brash boss.

“He’s dead. I’m cap’n of the Eclector now,” Kraglin answers. He hopes he comes off nonchalant, as if Yondu’s death hadn’t shaken him.

“Oh thank the stars. That guy was a class-less jackass, but what can you expect from an uppity Kree slave? Can’t believe Stakar ever saw anything in him, much less gave him his own ship. Must have been fucking him.” Some of Caal’s bodyguards snicker.

Kraglin wants to draw his long blade, cut two slits in the other man’s torso, and pull out his lungs through the back of his ribcage. Watch as the membranous sacs rustle and slowly deflate like bleeding wings when that asshole tries and fails to gasp air. The man would make a pretty blood angel. But Kraglin can’t do that. Changes in power are dangerous, tumultuous times, and he can’t afford to fuck up a deal based on _sentiment_. Cap’n… Yondu wouldn’t want that. The Eclector and its crew need a strong, dispassionate leader. That might not be Kraglin, but for all their sakes, he can pretend for now. So instead of enacting satisfying vengeance, Kraglin breathes in. He breathes out. He can do this.

“The fuck did you say?” Kraglin is surprised at his own lack of restraint before realizing the voice is not his own. It’s higher and younger, and… Oh hell. Kraglin is shell-shocked, watching in slow motion as Pete flings himself at the client, fists flying.

“You fucking yellow-bellied son of a Kratarkan whore!”

Then, all hell breaks loose.

 

* * *

 

“You stupid brat. Of all the… What the fuck were ya thinkin’? Were ya even thinkin’?” Kraglin boxes Peter’s ear in a vice-like grip, dragging him along an unoccupied corridor on the Eclector. This was a lot easier when he was younger and smaller. Now, Pete has to bend down quite a bit to relieve the pressure on his captured ear.

“Yondu’s dead, and no one around here cares!” Pete shouts in justified fury. Kraglin hadn’t defended Yondu to that bastard. He’s not about to let that slide.

“And you wanted to do what? Join him? You think Cap… Yondu would’a wanted ya t’carry on like ya are?” Kraglin lets go, slamming Pete against the wall as he faces the boy.

“I thought you guys were friends, but you don’t care either!” The accusation makes Pete’s voice crack. “You’re glad he’s dead, because that makes you captain now. It’s what you wanted, right? It’s what you were waiting for?” Peter takes in the hard-set of Kraglin’s mouth and the stoniness of his eyes. He mistakes Kraglin’s expression as confirmation of the truth.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He says, half in disbelief. _How could Kraglin be so cruel?_

Kraglin hits him then, a little harder than he meant to, right across his face. Pete stumbles but catches himself against the wall before he falls. He’s holding a hand to his bruising cheek while looking at Kraglin. There’s betrayal, shock, and a touch of wariness in Pete’s watery blue eyes. Kraglin’s fists are still balled.

“Don’t ya dare start cryin’,” Kraglin’s voice is low and serious. If Pete starts up now, Kraglin will hit him again, and he’s not sure he will be able to stop. Good thing the kid has some survival instincts because he manages to hold it in.

“Listen, Pete. You need’a watch it. Wise up, because continue like ya are, and yer goin’ ta end up dead.” _And Yondu is not around to stop it no more._ Kraglin doesn’t have the time or patience to be his babysitter, to hold his hand, to stop him from making grave mistakes, not anymore, not like Yondu used to do. The brat is long overdue for a reality check. He needs to grow the fuck up.

“I hate you!” Pete yells. He runs then, down the hall towards his quarters. A rush of hurried footsteps followed by the slam of his bedroom door echo in the metal halls of the Eclector.

_Me too, Pete. Me too._

Peter misses evening mess hall as well as breakfast and lunch the day after. Kraglin supposes the kid is up to something stupid again, like a self-imposed hunger strike. It figures he would die out of spite and stubbornness. He always did have a flair for the dramatic.

It’s really Yondu’s fault. He would bluster and threaten the boy, but in the end, he would cave into gentler impulses. Like the time Pete challenged a much larger Ravager for his “borrowed” Walkman. When Yondu had gone in to break up that fight, Pete’s wild flailing (Kraglin refuses to consider it a punch) had connected with Yondu’s chin. Instead of disengaging, Yondu had leaned up right into Pete’s face and head-butted him on the nose, breaking it in a gush of bright red blood. Pete had gotten off easy. If it had been anyone else, Yondu would have whistled and been done with it, but he had always been soft on the boy. Kraglin had thought that one day, it would get Yondu killed, but he had been wrong about that.

Kraglin stands outside Pete’s bedroom door, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He schools his features into what he hopes looks stern and determined. He places his hand on the bio-locked panel.

Access Denied.

Fuck. Yondu must have had coded the door so that only he and Pete could open it, in the event of a successful mutiny in which power falls to a less-favorable captain. If Kraglin had any doubts about Yondu’s fatal sentimentality towards the boy before, this confirms it. It strengthens his resolve to do the right thing. Ultimately, Yondu wasn’t doing Pete any favors by coddling him. If Yondu had wanted the kid to become a suitable Ravager, he needed to have been tougher on Pete. The brat is 14, nearly a grown man. He needed to be treated like one, which meant rules and punishments befitting an adult. Hell, when Kraglin was that age, he was completely self-sufficient, surviving just fine on his own in the slums of Xander. Now that Yondu is gone, it’s up to Kraglin to finish what he started but do it proper. It’s what Yondu would have wanted after all.

 _Knock! Knock! Knock!_ Kraglin pounds on Peter’s door.

“Pete, open up! We need to talk.”

No response.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

“Pete! This is a direct order from your captain. Now, open up!”

“You’re not my captain!” His voice is thin and reedy but hoarse, possibly from crying. _Oh hell._

“That little bastard. When I get my hands on him…” Kraglin mutters as he pulls out a cord to connect the lock to the comm-link on his wrist.

“If I have ta break into yer room, there’ll be hell to pay!” He gives Pete one last warning before he attempts to hack the door.

Kraglin is unable to bypass the lock. Yondu knew what he was doing. Kraglin considers other options, and his eyes come across a nearby vent. When Pete was small and had taken to hiding in the vents to avoid Cap’n and the other Ravagers, it had always been Kraglin who was ordered to fish him out. He’d pop a vent and wriggle and worm his way through, cursing Peter’s existence the entire time. Kraglin had thought he was past those days. Since his growth spurt, Pete had gotten too big for the vents (thank the stars), but Kraglin… Kraglin may be tall, but he is still as skinny and flexible as a pipe cleaner.

It isn’t dignified nor is it befitting of a captain, but he manages, shimmying his way up to a vent above Pete’s bed. He can see Pete now, sitting on the floor on the side of his bed, shoulders hunched and staring down, like during those early days on the Eclector, when he was blissfully silent between crying fits over his dead mother and lost home-world. His headphones are on, and the Walkman is turned up so loud, Kraglin can hear the soft base beat of Ooga Chuka from above. Kid keeps it up, and he’ll be deaf by age 25. Despite his height, Pete still seems so young even now.

It’s no time for reminiscing. Kraglin steels his resolve and pounds on the vent grate, popping it in one go but immediately falling through as well. His fall is broken by Pete’s bed, kicking up a cloud of rusty dust. Both coughing, they are momentarily incapacitated, Kraglin by the fall and Pete by surprise. They stare at each other for a long moment before Pete tries to run, but Kraglin immediately tackles and sits on him.

“Geroff me!” Pete manages, squished under Kraglin’s bony, not-unsubstantial weight.

“Yer goin’ ta listen to what I have to say…” Kraglin begins. He’s about to tell him how it’s going to be from now on, and how Pete is going to behave on his ship.

“No! That jackass was saying all that awful stuff about Yondu, and you were going to let him. How could you? Yondu – ”

“He’s dead, Pete. Yondu’s dead,” Kraglin says much too loud and much too forcefully, a weight growing in his chest. Pete stills. Kraglin figures now that he has his attention, he will tell Pete to just buck up and move on, but the longer he looks at him, the harder it gets. Although he’s an annoyingly noisy, weepy pest, Pete’s the only one that expresses how Kraglin feels. Is this what Cap’n saw in Pete? The thing that made it hard for him to be hard?

Kraglin reassesses his options. He could yell and beat Pete into compliance (best option), or he could threaten him with violence or the airlock (still good), or… He decides to try a different tactic: honesty. He moves off Pete to sit on the floor at his side. “I wish it were different, but… it ain’t, and…” Kraglin’s mask of tough indifference slips for a moment, and he looks lost and regretful. It’s surprising to Pete.

The moment passes.

“Look Petey, I don’t expect ya to understand, but I need ya to. His death makes things very dangerous right now fer me, fer you, fer everyone really. Cap’n… Well, Cap’n was strong an’ intimidating enough to hold it all together, the Eclector and her crew. Me? I don’ have a whistlin’ arrow at m’ side, but I have my knives and m’ reputation. I bring in units. I get shit done. But if I start killin’ all our clients or worse yet, let ya disobey m’ orders, then that’s something that can be exploited.”

Pete absorbs this new information, seeing the situation from Kraglin’s perspective. Kraglin is talking to him like an adult after all, which is a bit refreshing. Still, he latches on and gives voice to the unspoken thing that Kraglin is still trying, and failing, to hide. “You miss him, don’t you?”

Kraglin bats him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me.” _That wasn’t a no_ , Pete realizes.

“So what do we do now?” He asks.

“First, you start respectin’ my orders. No back talk. Also, none o’ this cryin’ and mopin’, and all that goin’s on. If’n ya really have ta, do it in yer room, away from the others.” Kraglin looks away and takes a deep breath. “Then, we move on, Pete. Maybe drink a glass o’ rotgut to his name every once in a while, but we don’ dwell. We’re Ravagers. It’s what we do.”

Pete wants to ask how. How can Kraglin just move on like that? But by the look on his face, Kraglin isn’t following his own advice as well as he thinks.

Pete changes the subject. “You think Caal is ever going to walk again?”

“If he’s lucky.”

“You sliced off his leg at the knee.”

“I was aimin’ a little higher, but _someone_ bowled right inta me an’ made me miss. Lost m’ balance a bit.” Kraglin is pointedly looking at the youth at his side.

Pete nervously scratches the back of his head. Maybe this isn’t the time to remind Kraglin of that.

Kraglin’s face is stoic, but his eyes betray a small measure of mirth: “He did have it comin’, didn’ he?”

“Yeah, he did, Kra– … Captain,” Pete answers. For the first time since Yondu’s death, Pete feels a little lighter, like he’s not alone, like someone else understands.

Kraglin stands and faces Pete. “C’mon now, cook made some damn-fine porridge today. Has meat in it, though I don’ know the species. It’s pretty good. Mostly edible. Can almost keep it down.”

 

* * *

 

It’s another three days before a beaten unmarked M-ship limps into view of the Eclector and hails them on their comm channel. It’s Yondu, looking a little worse for wear but miraculously alive. Kraglin would be elated… if he wasn’t so pissed off.

“I can’t believe you, you fuckin’ blue asshole,” Kraglin starts once they are alone in his quarters, actually Cap’n’s quarters. Kraglin had abdicated the captaincy once Yondu had stepped foot on the Eclector. However, during the docking procedure, Kraglin had been sorely tempted to brig him.

“500,000 units, Kraglin. Do I need’a count it out fer ya?” Yondu doesn’t understand why Kraglin is so upset. He’d been gone on longer missions in the past, and this one was rather profitable. Speaking of which… Yondu moves to unbuckle one of the straps on Kraglin’s shirt… It has been a while.

Kraglin slaps his hand away. _Not now._ He has an important point to make. “You were _dead_ , you fuckin’ son of a ruttin’ bilgesnipe. Dead, Cap’n! And I was alone…”

“Ya managed fine. I knew you could handle it.” Yondu stares at Kraglin’s shirt, which stubbornly refuses to dislodge from its owner’s body through the force of his will. Why are they still talking about this? Yeah, he faked his death, but he is alive still, isn’t he? And everyone is the richer for it.

“I had’a _talk_ to the kid, Cap’n!” Kraglin’s voice is a hiss, low and deadly. “About his feelings. His feelings about _you_. How could ya do that to me?”

Yondu flinches. _Ah. That would be a problem._ Quill was emotional to a fault, bad enough on even his best days what with his music and that Terran garbage about love and family he was always spewing. He hadn’t considered it before, but after his “death,” the boy must have been beside himself, and Kraglin doesn’t handle sentiment well. He’s surprised the other man didn’t frog-march Quill to an airlock after the first three days. Kraglin had shown great restraint. Still, Yondu frowned. He had thought he was doing a good job of it already, but he is going to have to work on toughening up the brat. It wouldn’t do to have him fall apart at the seams every time someone dies.

Kraglin is not done. “There weren’t no colors for you, Cap’n. No body, no funeral, no horns, no nothin’. If you died, that would’a been it.”

“So what? We both know that’s what’s goin’ ta happen. Stakar would never–”

“I mourned fer you.” Kraglin is staring at him now, waiting for the full meaning to sink in.

 _Oh_ …

Yondu doesn’t know what to say to that about that, so he retreats to familiar territory.

“You gettin’ soft on me, Obfonteri?”

Kraglin feels insubordinate, rebellious even, but he’s not stupid. “No, sir. Just know that next time you die, I ain’t goin’ ta so much as pour a drink out in yer name.”

“Good, ‘cause that’d be a waste o’ good booze.”

 

* * *

 

**20ish Years Later**

Kraglin lifts a new half-empty bottle from the captain’s private stash, uncorks it with his teeth, and pours three shots. Pete and Kraglin each take one, leaving the third untouched. Pete sits on a chair while Kraglin sits on the bed, the small table is placed between them and to the side.

“To Cap’n. May tha’ sonuvabitch rest in peace.” Kraglin’s drunken voice wavers. It’s as wobbly as his gait had been somewhere between the second and third bottle. Pete is pretending that it’s solely due to Kraglin’s inebriation. He’s an okay kid, that Pete is. Kraglin supposes he likes him, when he isn’t being such a little shit.

“To Yondu.” Pete agrees. They both drink then slam twin empty glasses on the table.

“Y’know he loved ya, Petey.” Kraglin slurs as he leans forward in his chair. Peter knows the other man must be exceedingly drunk to be talking like this. He considers maybe cutting Kraglin off. He decides against it and pours them another drink. It’s not often your dad dies after all, and baring divine intervention, this is likely the last time. Kraglin downs the fresh shot immediately.

“Yeah, I know,” Pete agrees. A man doesn’t die for you if he simply tolerates your existence. He tips his drink up to his lips.

“Me and him, we was fuckin’, you know that,” Kraglin says casually, as if they were discussing a particularly banal subject.

Pete spits out his drink. It goes up his nose, and he hacks through the burn. _Did Kraglin just say…?_

“Wh... What?” Pete still hasn’t recovered and continues to cough. Perhaps he heard wrong…

“Yep, we was fuckin’,” Kraglin confirms. “He liked me well enough, but you? He loved ya.” Kraglin is too far gone to notice Pete’s incredulous expression. He’s leaning back now, looking up at the ceiling, trying to count the bolts holding the Quadrant’s metal panels together at the seams. He gets lost after three.

When Pete recovers, he asks, “H-how? When?” Then immediately regrets it. He doesn’t want _details_.

“Hell, Pete. Didn’ Cap’n tell ya ‘bout sex? See, when two folks wanna fuck–”

“No, not that. I mean, you and Yondu were…” _Together? Dating? …Married?_

“Fuckin’.” Kraglin is nodding now, like it’s the most normal thing to have happened. Pete was always a little slow, but this is ridiculous. “That’s what I’mma ‘splainin’ to ya. Did the booze pickle yer brain?” Kraglin wipes his face in frustration.

“Tha’s it. No more fer ya.” Kraglin moves to grab Pete’s glass from his hand, but comes up short and almost falls off the bed.

“Okay, time for bed. Yer in no right mind t’ be up.” Pete staggers up onto shaky feet and wraps an arm around Kraglin, nearly hitting him in his face. He vaguely wants to pull Kraglin out of there, out of this place of memories where he and Yondu shared a bed. Oh God, Pete is touching those sheets now; What if he brushes against…? Ew.

Both fall back on the bed. Pete makes an effort to get up, but his arm is trapped under Kraglin’s body. He considers chewing through his shoulder to free himself, but his teeth are too dull for the task. In the end, he simply slips into drunken sleep and dreams of the past where a blue father holds his son, shielding him against the metallic ringing of asteroid storms.

 

* * *

 

Kraglin wakes the next morning to loud snoring and a warm body next to him. Cap’n always got like this after a heavy night of drinking. _Just 15 more minutes_ , Kraglin thinks. His eyes are still closed as he nuzzles Cap’n’s head.

It’s fluffy and kind of scratchy where Kraglin expects smooth, scarred skin. There’s hair. A lot more than Cap’n has ever had on top of his head. His eyes open to ginger brown waves. He pushes against the body next to him, and bolts up before flopping back down again. His head is throbbing. How much did he drink last night? And who…?

“Ooof!” The body stirs. Then: “What the ‘ell, Kraglin. Oooooowwwowow.” Pete closes his eyes and holds his head against the pounding ache.

 _Fuck fuck fuck! It’s Pete!_ How could he? With him of all people? Cap’n’s going to kill him… Oh. Kraglin remembers belatedly that Cap’n is already dead. The horns, the colors, the drinking, and then the black nothingness. He will need to get used to his absence, he thinks with a heavy heart. Still, back to the matter at hand… Pete –

“Pete! What’re ya doin’ here?” His voice goes small. “Last night, did we…?” Kraglin wants to die.

“What? No!” Pete looks disgusted. “You passed out and trapped me here. Nothing happened!” Kraglin notes that both he and Pete are fully dressed and breathes a sigh of relief. The relief is short-lived as parts of last night come into fuzzy focus. He had said something he shouldn’t have… didn’t he? Perhaps Pete was too drunk to remember...

“I’m sorry about Yondu. I didn’t know…” Pete begins.

“Not another word,” Kraglin wishes they could postpone this conversation to another time when he can threaten him into silence properly. Right now, he has a hangover and wishes the ship would just stop spinning.

Pete supposes it’s Kraglin’s right to not want to talk about his relationship with Yondu. It’s not like he really wants to know. Still –

“So, where do we go from here?” Pete asks.

Kraglin doesn’t answer, so he continues: “You’re welcome to join us, you know. Stay on the Quadrant. We need a mechanic, someone who can work with Rocket, someone who knows the old girl through and through. She needs a good crew after all.”

Kraglin considers the offer. He supposes he can stay on for a while. It’s always hard starting over, harder still without Cap’n. His eyes prickle at the thought, but he dismisses it, buries it deep. Can’t go soft around the boy. In the meantime, he’ll help Yondu’s son as atonement in some small way for his part in the mutiny. Keep him safe. Keep him alive. It’s the least he can do. For Yondu.

“Yeah, sure, Pe – Cap’n.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Kinkmeme prompt on LiveJournal in its entirety: 
> 
> For whatever reason, Yondu was forced to fake his own death when Peter was a teenager. Kraglin is hurting, but is doing well keeping it bottled up inside. And Peter... well, he's doing about as well as one could expect. 
> 
> And then, we revisit the scene from Thor 2:
> 
> E: "Your brother isn't coming, is he?"
> 
> T: "Loki is dead."
> 
> E: "Oh, thank God!"
> 
> (Or something along those lines, doesn't necessarily have to be exact)
> 
> Everyone expects Kraglin to be the one that loses it. But it's Peter. He rearranges the guy's face, and then goes and locks himself in his quarters. Kraglin and Peter then have a very awkward heart-to-heart.


End file.
